


What There Was Left of Love

by semele



Series: What There Was Left of Love [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 10:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4134840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semele/pseuds/semele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Raven comes to him after Mount Weather, Bellamy isn't even surprised.</p><p>Set after s2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What There Was Left of Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shortitude](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortitude/gifts).



> For Cella, who asked: _write that thing about him noticing she doesn't always come and being all OK TELL ME_

_Running with my roots pulled up_  
Caught me cold so they could cut  
What there was left of love  
I'm rootless. 

Marina and the Diamonds, _Rootless_

The first time Raven comes to him after Mount Weather, Bellamy isn't even surprised.

She's sore, and angry, and harsh, her eyes sharp around the edges, familiar and unfamiliar; the Raven he remembers, except much more so. She looks ready to break him in two, clearly upset over something she doesn’t bother explaining in too many words.

“I don’t want to think anymore,” she says, shaking her head. “Do you want to…”

“Do I want what?”

She looks at him defiantly, like he’s making her spell out something obvious.

“Take off your shirt,” she barks, and Bellamy’s breath catches in his throat. Just like that, he’s embarrassingly hard, and the only thing left in his head is Raven’s name ringing like a bell, over and over again, Raven, Raven, Raven, Raven, until she bites into his lips needily, and he focuses solely on her.

It's a sorry affair, that second first time they share. She has him naked and gasping on top of her in five seconds flat, and then he gets off like a flare after no more than a few thrusts, his entire being reduced to Raven's nails biting viciously into his shoulder. When he sees he won't last, he at least has the presence of mind to slide his hand between them, but Raven squeezes him with her thighs so tightly he loses himself, and comes before he can actually find her clit in their frenzy of movement.

She seems surprised when he tries to apologize, and shrugs him off like it's no big deal.

"Are you okay, Raven?" he asks as he watches her put her clothes back on. "You look... How are you?"

"I'll be fine."

It’s as much honesty as she can afford now, and he accepts it with good grace, determined to keep things easy between them. They aren’t strangers anymore, and Raven moves around his tent with no rush, but he can see there is something bothering her, a thought she can't get rid of as she readjusts her brace.

"You really don't care who you sleep with, do you?" she shoots once she's fully clothed. It brings Bellamy up short.

"What? Raven, I... Where did this come from?"

There is a glimpse of something on her face, confusion and maybe a bit of embarrassment, and he doesn't know how to help her, so he gets up and starts pulling on his shirt.

"Would you like to stay?" he asks once he's standing in front of her. "I don't like being here alone."

It's a stretch, of course, since no one is ever truly alone in Camp Jaha, but Raven doesn’t call him out; instead she watches him, puzzled, without making a move towards the exit. Her frame, he decides, seems slightly more relaxed, so maybe, for once, he did something right.

"There's some smoked meat in that box," he offers as soon as he has pants on. "And I think I might have apples. Have you eaten?"

Raven shakes her head.

“Aren’t you mad?” she asks, accepting the fruit from him. “I mean, coming to you…”

“We’re friends, Raven. You’re good.”

She doesn’t comment that evening; not when they eat, and not when they start dozing off over their jackets they’re supposed to be mending, but a few days later, Raven shows up again with a box full of food, and stays for dinner again.

***

Their next time happens out of random.

Raven is eating with him again, and it’s hard not to touch on his small cot they’re using as a couch. There is nothing erotic about it, hands and legs brushing lightly even as they exchange camp gossip, and Bellamy tells himself to get his shit together, because, really.

Only when Raven moves forward and kisses him does he realize that he wasn’t the only one getting turned on.

Soon he is on his knees between her spread legs, holding on to her leg for balance, but when he tries to touch up her thigh, she bats his hand away, and reaches for his cock even though it must be too soon for her.

“What do you want me to do?” he whispers, face inches from hers, because he doesn’t dare to ask her if she’s sure.

“Inside,” she breathes shakily, and Bellamy obligingly follows the movement of her hand.

She’s slick, and warm, and loud, and who knows, maybe he’s wrong thinking that it must hurt, but he tries to go slowly anyway, tries to listen, and touch, and kiss until his head and hands are way too full of Raven, and he spills into her with a moan.

They’re friends, so she doesn’t bother pretending he got her off as well.

It becomes a routine after some time; quick, stolen moments on his bed or on her table. Sex, Raven teaches him, is good for everything -- for cold, and fear, and hunger, and for that terrible, hollow feeling that keeps growing until they can’t stomach being around anyone but each other. Afterwards, Raven clings to him like a vice, searching for warmth, so he gives her what she wants instead of what he thinks she should get.

***

And then the balance shifts in the middle of one night, and Bellamy isn’t even sure how it happens.

He gets a gasp of pleasure from Raven, something that escapes her before she can check herself, and it rings between them until his mouth is so dry he feels like he wouldn’t be able to utter anything above a whisper. They’re in his tent again, and he fumbles for a flashlight, determined to see her face, until she catches his wrist.

“I’m okay,” she says quietly. “You can go on.”

“Raven…”

“I’ll be fine. You can go on.”

“What do you want me to do?”

The question falls heavy into the silence that surrounds them, because Raven _must_ know what he’s asking, even if she always ignores him when he asks her this. Bellamy feels rather than sees her move, lean back slightly on his cot, and he imagines her bite her lip.

“You don’t need to baby me,” she answers quickly. “I’m okay. I won’t break.”

Her tone is enough to make him get up from the floor, and sit on the bed next to her. There isn’t enough light to see her face, but he can figure out the outline of Raven, her hair and her arms, and the familiar shape of her nose.

It would be so easy to weasel her into this now. “Do it for me,” he could say and kiss her wrist, “I want to stop thinking, help me out here.” They’re friends, so she’d agree, guide her hands around her body until he was buried under her shallow, shallow breaths; Raven Reyes, an anchor.

They’re friends.

“You can let go now,” he says as his hand finds her face, fingers resting lightly on her cheek. “Whatever it is you’re doing to yourself, you can let it go.”

She doesn’t; not fully, at least, but her clever hand finds his in the dark, and rests it lightly on her shoulder.

When he tries to slide it down to her breast, she nudges him until he touches the back on her neck, and starts stroking her spine, spreading his fingers widely. Raven arches into his touch, and stays quite still for a few moments, then starts twisting her body until she has her back to his chest, his hand trapped between them.

When he moves it, she reaches for it again, and he follows with no hesitation, his face pressed to the crook of her neck. It’s easy to listen like this, listen to movements and gasps, and to let her hand guide his down her torso, to cup her breast and softly tease her thigh until she falls back against him, her frame relaxed as she leads him between her legs.

She leaves him to his own devices once he touches her clit, but it’s a short way from there, anyway. She winces at direct touch, so he goes softer, teasing her in haphazard circles until she comes with a small cry he’s never heard before, her body pressing into his as if she wanted to crawl inside him.

She’s out of his bed as soon as her breath is steady again, and scrambles for her clothes like she’s making point; a challenge or a blow, hard to tell, really, because he’s pretty sure she’s crying.

He hands her his last apple before she leaves, but she only takes it when she’s sure he won’t try to kiss her goodnight.


End file.
